Gospel Story Finder

It was just a few days before Christmas, and we were newlyweds traveling home for the holidays. It was a 42-hour drive by car, but that didn’t discourage us at all because we were so excited to be home with our families again! We had been on the road all day and most of the night when we came upon a terrible snowstorm. We found ourselves in a blinding blizzard, and the snow was growing deeper on the highway with each passing moment. The night was pure black. We couldn’t see where we were going, and because of the deep snow we couldn’t see the lines on the road. This was a frightening situation!
Suddenly in front of us we began to see a huge semitruck going slowly and steadily ahead. We could barely make out his taillights, but seeing them gave us hope. My husband, who was driving, fixed his eyes on the lights from the truck, and we drove along in the tracks it made through the deepening snow. Our panic subsided somewhat with that guide up ahead, because he knew the route, he sat up higher than we and could have a better view, and surely he had communication equipment if it was needed.
With prayers on our lips and white-knuckled hands holding on, we followed that light through the storm. We passed many cars off both sides of the road before we sensed that the truck was slowing down and pulling off the highway. In an act of faith, we followed him and soon found ourselves, to our great relief, in a place of safety, a place of refuge. We were so very thankful! We could hardly wait to tell the driver of the truck how grateful we were for his help—for leading the way.

Susanna’s mother, Eeva, joined the Church in 1989, before Susanna was born. Sister Ståhle had a good friend who was a member of the Church, but they never talked about religion until Sister Ståhle’s sister was in a bad car accident. Soon after that, Sister Ståhle went with her friend to church. Immediately she felt that she had come home. She was baptized a month later, and Susanna’s father, Sven, was baptized a few years later.

Two young women in this seminary class, both 16, are named Brigitta. “From my classmate, Seres Brigitta, I heard about the Church for the first time,” says Bozó Brigitta.
“I began attending sacrament meeting and made a lot of friends here. So when youth conference came, I naturally thought I needed to go. At the conference, I felt for the first time that I needed to belong to this Church. I was baptized a week later.” Two months after Brigitta’s own baptism, her mother and her 15-year-old brother, László, were baptized. (Her father had died six years earlier.) “Now the three of us—our whole family—are members of the Church. It is wonderful!”
“At first I thought just my friend would be baptized,” says her classmate Seres Brigitta. “I was amazed that her family also joined the Church.”

May I give you an example of a Korean brother who heard the Savior’s voice? Brother Choi had left his wife, two children, and his mother for nine months. One day our missionaries were tracting in the city of Kwang Ju, Korea. They found his family. The family began to study with the missionaries and were baptized shortly.

The missionaries started the family home evening program with this family.

One day the seven-year-old daughter purchased a Book of Mormon from a missionary and sent it with her simple, yet beautiful testimony to her daddy. Two missionaries took that book to her father and bore their strong, firm testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel and the importance of the family. Her father wondered why these people were so concerned and kind to him and his family. When evening came, he began to read, and heard a familiar voice of the Lord. He was so inspired and found it to be true. And also he found the testimony written by his daughter. I would like to share it with you, brothers and sisters. She said:

“Aboji, Aboji, Aboji (which interpreted is “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”), I want to have family home evening with you! Please come back! We love you! I love you! I need you! I want you to read this book! Heavenly Father loves you!”

Brother Choi was so inspired and magnified by reading the Book of Mormon and touched by it and touched by his daughter’s testimony that he asked the missionaries to baptize him. Therefore this family was reunited, and Brother Choi is now the bishop of the Kwang Ju Third Ward. He sits in this hall today, a living example of one who heard the Savior’s voice from the Book of Mormon.

The week I stayed with Uncle Alex and Aunt Cindy was the week their garden cranked out a year’s supply of zucchini. Uncle Alex called it the “Zucchini Explosion.”
Uncle Alex is a lot like me, only grown up. We even have the same name, sort of. You see, my name is Elliot Alexander Cranton. His name is Alexander Elliot Cranton. Aunt Cindy says we’re quite a pair.
We ate supper on the patio the first night, and there it was on my plate—zucchini. Uncle Alex is a lot of fun, and I like Aunt Cindy too. But zucchini and I don’t get along at all. They look like giant cucumbers, and they just mush around in your mouth.
I ate as much as I could stand, then spread the rest around on my plate. I didn’t want to hurt Aunt Cindy’s feelings, but I didn’t want to eat the zucchini, either.
After supper three of Aunt Cindy’s friends stopped by to visit.
“Would you like to take home some zucchini?” she asked them.
“My family won’t eat them,” said the tall one.
“My family won’t touch them,” said the short one.
“My family won’t even look at them,” said the one in between.
I wasn’t surprised.
Uncle Alex and I excused ourselves and went to catch lightning bugs.
We caught about twenty-five and put them into a jar. I thought the breathing holes in the lid were small enough when I took the jar into the kitchen, but I guess they weren’t.
I don’t know why Aunt Cindy was so upset. Only one got on her foot. The rest were on the ceiling. And the walls. And the floor.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” she shouted, “get these bugs out of my kitchen!”
“If you insist, but we sure could have saved on the electric bill,” Uncle Alex joked.
The next night we ate in the kitchen. We had a zucchini casserole. I offered to scrape the dishes so that Aunt Cindy wouldn’t see how much I’d left on my plate.
After dinner, Uncle Alex and I hunted for fishing worms. We put them into a paper cup with some dirt, then put the cup into the refrigerator to keep the worms fresh.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” shouted Aunt Cindy when she looked in the refrigerator, “what’s this next to the zucchini?”
She looked into the cup. “Get these worms out of my kitchen!”
Aunt Cindy did not even want to understand about keeping worms fresh.
We ate in the dining room the next night. We had zucchini with some kind of sauce on them. I’d swallowed more zucchini that week than I’d eaten before in my whole life. But it wasn’t enough for Aunt Cindy.
She looked at our plates and shook her head. “I’ve already put away more zucchini than we’ll need for the winter.”
“Leave the zucchini to us,” said Uncle Alex.
“Sure,” said Aunt Cindy, smiling a little. “You two are just like those zucchini. I don’t know what to do with them, and I don’t know what to do with you!”
After supper I helped Uncle Alex move the picnic table out by the road. We put the zucchini on the table. I made a sign that said ZUCCHINI—20¢ EACH.
Eight cars went by. I changed the price to ten cents.
Fourteen more cars went by. No luck.
I made a new sign that said ZUCCHINI—FREE TO A GOODHOME. Sixteen cars later, we gave up.
“Let’s look in Aunt Cindy’s cookbook,” I suggested. “Maybe we can find a recipe for chocolate-covered zucchini.”
“I’ll try anything,” said Uncle Alex.
We went into the kitchen and got out the cookbook.
“Uncle Alex,” I asked, “why doesn’t Aunt Cindy ever make zucchini bread? It sounds kind of good.”
“It is,” Uncle Alex said. “You don’t even know you’re eating zucchini. Aunt Cindy says it’s fattening.”
“Let’s make some.”
That was when I found out that Uncle Alex is not very handy in the kitchen, especially with messy things like flour and eggs. After we put the bread in the oven and were just starting to clean up, Aunt Cindy came in with her three friends.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” she shouted, “what have you done to my kitchen?”
I don’t know why she was so upset. There was just a little flour on the counter. And on the floor. And on Uncle Alex.
“What is that wonderful smell?” asked Aunt Cindy’s tall friend.
“It’s zucchini bread,” I told her.
“How delightful!” said the short one.
“It does smell delicious,” said the one in between.
When the bread was done, Uncle Alex cut a slice for each of us, even Aunt Cindy.
It was really good, and it didn’t mush around in my mouth.
Uncle Alex gave each lady the recipe and a big sack full of zucchini.
“Oh, thank you,” said the tall one.
“How thoughtful of you,” said the short one.
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep some for yourselves?” asked the one in between.
The next day, Uncle Alex and I picked three zucchini from the garden. We took them in to Aunt Cindy.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” she shouted, “get those zucchini out of my kitchen!”

Black clouds piled up in the west as I fastened my seat belt and Mom started the car. My mood was as dark as those clouds. Why did Mom always tell people I would play a musical number on the piano whenever anyone asked me? I was only 12, but I was often asked to play for church programs and in other wards. Bishop Bowen had asked me to play a musical number in his ward’s sacrament meeting this evening. We used to live in his ward.
“Why do I have to play?” I asked Mom. “I like to practice at home, but I don’t like to play in public. Some of my friends will be there and they’ll make fun of me. They all know I play the piano and they tease me about it.”
“You have a special gift for music, Kent,” Mom said. “You need to share your talent.”
I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and didn’t say anything else.
When we got to the church, Mom parked the car. The wind was blowing hard as we hurried into the building.
Sitting in the chapel, I flattened my hands over my shaky knees to quiet them. Mom patted my shoulder and smiled at me. I pulled away and swallowed hard.
After the sacrament, Bishop Bowen announced the rest of the meeting. He said who would be the first speaker, and then he said, “We’re so happy to have Kent back with us this evening. He will play a musical number for us.”
A lady sitting behind us leaned forward and patted my shoulder and smiled. “Why do my friends tease me so much, but the adults always like to hear me play?” I wondered.
I heard the wind howling outside. My throat was dry. Too bad I couldn’t get a drink of water. My fingers were stiff so I rubbed them.
The first speaker finished his talk. Ready or not, it was my turn. My stomach churned as I stared at the keys. I felt like striking them with all my strength. Too bad I wasn’t playing my favorite song, “The Storm.” A storm raged inside me as well as outside.
A minute passed as I sat there trying to compose myself, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, I raised my hands and let them fall gently on the keys. The soft chords dropped from my fingertips and quieted the storm inside me. I pictured a bright moon in the sky making a stream of light on ripples across a lake. My fingers rippled over the keys like the moonlight over the water. I felt like I was playing at home. I loved every minute of it.
When I finished, I slipped into the pew beside Mom. She put her arm around my shoulders, and I heard rain spattering against the windows. A sudden flash of lightning jarred the quiet congregation.
The second speaker stood up to give his talk, but I could only hear the rumbling thunder and the pounding rain outside. A sudden blinding flash seemed to almost come right into the building, followed by a loud crash. All the lights went out in the chapel! The speaker continued his talk even though it was hard to hear him without the microphone. Babies cried. Kids wiggled. Everybody was whispering.
When the speaker finished, Bishop Bowen stood up and spoke loudly. “Our meeting is finished except for the closing prayer. But we surely can’t go out into this storm. Kent, will you please play your musical number again?”
I was shocked. How could I quiet all that confusion and fear? I felt my way to the piano bench in the darkness and found middle C. Then I knew I would be all right. I had never felt such peace as the memorized notes blended into each other. The nervous confusion in the chapel stopped and everyone seemed to be concentrating on the music.
The congregation was silent as the last tones died away. The storm outside had calmed down. Someone offered the closing prayer, and then everyone began to leave, finding their way carefully in the dark. Some of my friends were waiting for me in the foyer.
“Hey, Kent, how did you do that? Your music took away the scare,” one said.
“I wish I could play like that,” said another.
No one made fun of me. What a relief! A woman touched my elbow and said, “Tonight you used music for a great purpose. You gave us calmness over panic. I’ve never felt more uplifted and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Please don’t ever stop playing.”

The Warwoods always planned to go on a senior mission, and Sister Warwood was certain she knew where the Lord needed her to serve. As a neonatal nurse practitioner, she felt drawn to humanitarian work in developing countries.
“I always thought I would serve a humanitarian mission in a third-world country, something with mothers and babies,” she explains. But when they visited Africa a year before their mission call, something unexpected happened. “When I thought to myself, ‘We’ll be here in a year,’ I just had this dreaded feeling,” Sister Warwood recalls.
Back home, during a senior mission meeting, coordinators asked about their preferences. She answered, “Third world, something medical, saving lives.” The dread returned. “I thought, ‘I guess I don’t really want to serve a mission. This is a horrible feeling.’”
Everything shifted when coordinators learnt the couple’s backgrounds—he an accountant, she in healthcare. They explained that “the Mission Health Adviser (MHA) is the most coveted job in the mission because you get to know, love, and serve all of the missionaries.” Sister Warwood realised the MHA “did many of the things I did in the NICU—just with much bigger babies!”
“By the time we left the meeting, instead of feeling dread, I was very excited.” She realised: “The Lord’s been trying to tell you third-world humanitarian is not where you’re supposed to be. He couldn’t have made it more obvious.”
The Warwoods accepted a call to the Auckland New Zealand Mission, where that guidance proved itself many times. In one memorable incident, a sister missionary called with allergic reaction symptoms. She had eaten mussels and was experiencing throat itching and nausea. As they talked, her symptoms escalated.
“Her tongue and face were swelling, she could hardly swallow, was drooling, coughing and developed a rash,” Sister Warwood remembers. She coordinated care, managing four phones at the same time—with the missionary, her leaders, transportation, and the urgent care centre—so they would be prepared to treat her on arrival.
“The urgent care answered right away,” she marvels, “no eternal ‘on hold’, as usual.” The missionary received immediate treatment. “Everything went so smoothly,” Sister Warwood reflects. The Lord’s hand was undeniable in this event.
Meanwhile, Elder Warwood was discovering his own unexpected path. “When we came out, I didn’t know what I was going to do,” he admits. When another senior missionary couple had to return home early, Elder Warwood inherited their bicycle maintenance responsibilities, in which he had little experience. “I know enough about bike repair to get myself in trouble,” he laughs.
The solution came through family. His brother Dan was planning to visit New Zealand for just one week with his wife. Sister Warwood suggested they extend their stay. “Gary could really use some help with bikes.” Her sister-in-law’s response was immediate: “Oh, Dan would love that.”
Dan, a skilled mechanic, ended up staying almost three weeks, teaching Elder Warwood everything about bicycle repair. “He fixes anything,” Elder Warwood says gratefully. “The Lord just provided that help.” Now he manages both mission finances and keeps dozens of bicycles running.
As President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught, “Whom the Lord calls, the Lord qualifies.” Elder Warwood has learnt that this principle applies not just to the calling but to every challenge that arises, “for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish … them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
The Warwoods have four children, two with challenges, making it especially difficult to leave their family. But their setting-apart blessing included a promise that “people would come into their lives to help and serve them in ways that we are not able to from far away,” Sister Warwood shares.
That promise taught her new faith. “I find peace when I say, ‘OK, Lord, I can’t do anything about this, but you can. So I’m going to leave it with you.’ It takes the worry away.” The mission has shifted her perspective. “I’ve learnt to think more celestial, seeing what really matters in the end, and what doesn’t.”
Elder Warwood sees this divine orchestration everywhere. “The Lord puts people in our space—it’s this big jigsaw puzzle where He knows exactly where we’re all supposed to be to help others. He fulfils everyone’s needs.“
In that jigsaw puzzle, every piece has been shaped for its exact place. While they wondered at first how they might fit into the senior mission experience, the Warwoods have learnt that the Lord has been preparing them for this work their whole lives. They were already the pieces that He needed.

As a leader he has tried to encourage that desire in others. He remembers a time in 1987 when he was the bishop in Fayetteville, Arkansas. “I went into Primary one Sunday,” he says. “They had invited me. I decided to wear red suspenders. I thought that I would somehow use them as an object lesson. So I got in the Primary room, took off my coat, and said, ‘Now, boys and girls, the bishop has these red suspenders. How are the scriptures like my red suspenders?’ And one little boy raised his hand and said, ‘The scriptures hold up our faith in Jesus the same way your suspenders hold up your pants.’ I said, ‘That is exactly right.’ The little boys in the ward started wearing red suspenders, and the little girls had red bows in their hair.

“My dad was a tool-and-die maker, and he would never be caught without his tools. It seemed to me that for members of the Church of Jesus Christ our tools are the scriptures and we would always have them in our meetings. When I became the stake president, we began to hold them up to remind us how they can, if we use them, hold up our faith.”

Four years later, Katie, one of my daughters-in-law, underwent an emergency C-section to deliver twin baby girls at 25 weeks of gestation, too close to the threshold of infant viability for comfort. When the girls were just eight weeks old, Katie was returning home late at night from her daily visit with them in the neonatal intensive care unit of the hospital and was hit and killed by a drunk driver, leaving my son a widower with six children.
My wife was everything to me, and my son’s wife was everything to him. Those were tough times for our family.
I didn’t fully appreciate how great Tanya was and how much I depended on her until she was gone. But we had knelt at an altar in a holy temple, and someone having the sealing power had pronounced blessings upon us. I have clung to the promise of those blessings. I trust in those promised blessings.
Tanya’s death was a crisis of faith for me. I had to decide, “Do I really believe?” Faith is called a gift of God, but it’s also a choice we make—a choice to believe. I chose to believe, and I found out that Moroni was correct when he wrote that we receive no witness until after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6). After the trial, the witness did come. My faith was rewarded with a confirming peace of mind. That’s what has enabled me to go forward.
As my second wife, Becky, says: “We need faith the most when we face a crisis. Going to the Lord really is the only answer. It is the way to cope and hope.”
Brother Evans and his wife, Becky, share photos of his daughter-in-law and her twin baby girls.
For a time, I struggled to figure out what was faith and what was hope. Alma describes faith as a “hope for things which are not seen, which are true” (Alma 32:21). Because of my faith in Jesus Christ, I have hope that if I remain faithful and true to my covenants, I can share eternal life with Tanya. I am also grateful for the assurance I have that the Savior is there for each of us. There’s a difference between thinking, “He’s there” and realizing, “He’s there for me.”
My two grandchildren have lasting ill effects from their car accident, and I still grieve Tanya’s absence in my life. I’ll never stop missing her, and the love I have for her is not diminished by the love I have for my second wife. The love has just multiplied.
My son has also remarried. His new wife is Becky’s first cousin once removed. We both married into the same family. What are the odds of that? It’s an amazing coincidence, or maybe it’s not.
Our family has had its share of challenges, but we have also experienced blessings. My son has become one of my heroes. He forgave the drunk driver who killed his wife, and he told her he hoped she would straighten out her life. His two little girls recently celebrated their fifth birthday. They are real miracle babies.
“I am grateful for the assurance I have that the Savior is there for each of us.”
For the past 17 years, I have had the privilege of serving as a patriarch. At first, I was afraid I couldn’t fulfill the calling, but I have learned that the blessings come from the Lord, not the patriarch. There are common themes in patriarchal blessings because our Heavenly Father wants many of the same things for all His children, but each blessing is different, individual, and personal.
One of the purposes of a patriarchal blessing is to help individuals see who they are as children of God and to discern how much their Heavenly Father loves them. As a patriarch, whenever I lay my hands on someone’s head to give them a patriarchal blessing, for just a few precious moments, Heavenly Father allows me to feel the love He has for that individual. It is an overpowering feeling. When I feel how much He loves each blessing recipient, I can feel that He loves me too.
“Nothing brings me greater joy than the promises of the temple, which give me hope that through Christ, I can overcome all trials,” says Brother Evans.
Today, Becky and I focus on the temple. One of the reasons our Lord has given us the temple is to give us a glimpse of Zion. In addition to being a patriarch, I was invited some years ago to serve as a sealer in the temple. That has been another great joy of my life. It is a calling of all happy occasions. Nothing brings me greater joy than the promises of the temple, which give me hope that through Christ, I can overcome all trials.

Illustration by Mark Robison
Bobby bounded down the stairs to his toy chest full of building blocks. It was Friday. That meant there was only one day left of freedom before Saturday.
Bobby didn’t like Saturday mornings. Every Saturday his family had to do their chores. There was mopping and dusting, vacuuming and scrubbing. They even had to clean their bedrooms!
Bobby sat down beside his block chest and started building The Tallest Block Tower in the Universe. He knew it was important to get the house ready for Sunday, but what was the point of a weekend if you spent so much time working?
As Bobby continued building, he heard someone talking in the kitchen.
“But, Mom,” his older sister Charlotte said, “my birthday is on Saturday. Working tomorrow morning will ruin the whole day! Can I do my chores today instead?”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Mom said.
Charlotte left the kitchen and walked upstairs. Bobby stopped building to watch her go. Tomorrow was Charlotte’s birthday. Good thing she could get her chores over with now.
He turned back to his tower, then stopped. He set his blocks down. Maybe she doesn’t have to do her chores at all, he thought.
Bobby raced up the stairs to see Charlotte wheeling the vacuum cleaner down the hall. Before she could plug it in, he ran over to her.
“Stop! Don’t do your chores!” Bobby cried out.
Charlotte shook her head. “I can’t stop,” she said. “If I don’t do them today, then I’ll have to do them on my birthday, and that’s no fun.”
She started to plug in the vacuum cleaner, but Bobby stepped in front of her. “But I want to do them for you!” he said. “I’ll do both of our chores. You don’t have to do any of them.”
Charlotte looked up, surprised. “You would do that for me?”
Bobby winced a little inside. He knew it was going to be a lot of work. There would be two bathrooms to scrub and two rooms to clean. He looked over at The Tallest Block Tower in the Universe. There might not be time this weekend to finish it after all.
But he looked back at his sister and smiled. “Yes. Happy birthday!”
A huge smile spread across Charlotte’s face. She gave Bobby a big hug. “Thank you!” she said as she ran happily down the hall.
Bobby looked over at the vacuum. Plugging it in, he started working on the first of Charlotte’s Saturday chores. His sister was worth it. The tower would have to wait.

Part of the tragedy you must avoid is to discover too late that you missed an opportunity to prepare for a future only God could see for you. The chance to learn another language is for me a painful example. My father was born in Mexico. He grew up speaking Spanish as his first language. I lived in his home for more than 20 years. Sadly, I never asked him to teach me a word of Spanish. But my Church assignments have caused me to have contacts in Mexico, Central America, Colombia, Venezuela, and Ecuador. It was no accident that I was born into a home with a Spanish-speaking father. My father was a great teacher. He was a chemist. He even kept a blackboard in our basement for his children. He was eager to teach me mathematics. He spent hours trying to help me solve problems for my physics classes. He pled with me to think more often about those things that then seemed so uninteresting and unimportant. Years later I was called by the Lord to the Presiding Bishopric of the Church and given responsibilities for computing and communications systems. What a blessing I might have had if I had followed with my father the counsel I am giving to you now. Your life is carefully watched over, as was mine. The Lord knows both what He will need you to do and what you will need to know to do it. You can with confidence expect that He has prepared opportunities for you to learn. You will not recognize those opportunities perfectly, as I did not. But when you put the spiritual things first in your life, you will be blessed to feel directed toward certain learning, and you will be motivated to work harder. You will recognize later that your power to serve was increased, and you will be grateful. Your service may not be in what the world would recognize as a lofty calling. But remember that when the real value of service becomes clear in the judgment of God, some people who worked in quiet anonymity will be the real heroes.

Years later my husband told me that when he was a child, Brother Joseph went to their home and asked if he could borrow one of his mother’s twin babies. He explained that his wife Emma had been sad and lonely since her own baby had died, and he thought it would comfort her to take care of one of the girls. The Prophet picked up the baby in the morning and brought her back each night.
One evening when the baby was not home at the usual time, Mother Burgess went to see what was the matter. There was the Prophet rocking the little baby by the fire. He had her wrapped in a silk quilt, and he was singing to get her quiet.
Margarette M. Burgess

During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She had been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.

Even though we had never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.

Young Louisa tugged open the heavy door of the huge brick oven. She peered into the darkness, then jumped back in horror. Someone was crouching inside and staring back at her. Quickly her mother came to Louisa’s side and explained that it was a runaway slave that she had hidden in the oven until he could escape to freedom. Louisa understood and knew that she should tell no one about the black man whom she’d discovered. She was accustomed to having people seek help from her parents. Louisa never forgot her parents’ example of concern for others.

Amy was baptized this year. “My daddy baptized me, and he made me stay under the water for a long time to make sure I was all the way under.” When she came up, she took a big breath and said, “I’m all clean.” Later, she added, “I felt really different when I was baptized. I felt clean afterward and wanted to stay clean.” Whenever Amy has to make a hard decision, she asks herself, “What would Jesus do?” She always tries to help people and even animals who need help.

In a 1929 American football game held in Pasadena, California, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

I began my college studies at a university about 100 miles (160 km) from home. It was an exciting time for all the freshman students. Many were living away from home for the first time and were eager to express their newfound freedom from parental oversight.
I was on the university basketball team, and it quickly became known that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. During the first weeks of the semester, one of my teammates invited me to a Saturday night party for new students to be held in the desert outside the city. I asked if the party would include alcohol and was assured that it would not. I felt uncomfortable with this response but decided to attend nonetheless. A blind date was arranged for me with the assurance that she had the same standards I had. My teammate explained that we would use his car.
That Saturday night we drove some distance into the desert and found the party. To my great disappointment, drinking alcohol was the principal activity, notwithstanding the fact that the legal drinking age in the state was three years above the age of most of the freshman students. My date couldn’t wait to begin drinking, along with my teammate and his date. When I voiced disappointment, they said I needed to “grow up and live a little” and that they would help me. I told them that I had never drunk alcohol and that I was not going to start then. They soon left me so they could join the others.
I sat alone, apart from the drinking and boisterous laughter, without transportation to leave, wondering why I had gotten myself into this mess. Later in the night, I saw a line of car headlights coming through the desert toward the party. The cars encircled the group, and then, as if on signal, lights began flashing on the top of what I then recognized as police cars. Many students attempted to run into the desert but were quickly apprehended. I remained where I was, perplexed by the developments.
The police began checking identification to determine the ages of the students, giving breath tests to those below the legal drinking age to determine if they had been drinking. When they came to me, I told an officer that I had not drunk alcohol that night or ever. He laughed at me, but when I firmly stated that he could believe me, his countenance changed. He told me that I did not have to take the test and directed me to drive my teammate’s car back to the university. Those who were underage and drinking were cited and required to pay fines. Some were taken to jail.
I, however, left with no police record and arrived home at about 3:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. Priesthood meeting in my ward began at 7:00 a.m. My alarm sounded at 6:45 a.m. I turned it off and rolled over, thinking for a few moments of all the reasons not to attend that morning. But spiritually, I couldn’t rest. I arose, dressed in my Sunday clothes, and walked to the chapel, arriving about 10 minutes after the meeting had begun.
As I walked into the chapel, my heart leaped as I recognized the back of my father’s head. He had come to visit me, unannounced. I slipped in beside him and sat down. He looked at me and smiled. Then, putting his hand firmly on my knee, he leaned over and whispered a message with meaning far beyond words: “I knew I would find you here, Son.” Simultaneously, Heavenly Father whispered the same message to my soul. I can’t adequately describe the love and joy I felt at that moment.
A few months later I was on my mission. A few months after that, I received word that my father had died unexpectedly. The message I received from him and through him that Sunday, however, has never left me.
When my teammate misrepresented the party’s activities, I felt a spiritual unrest that I did not heed. When confronted with that reality, I was more disappointed with myself than with my teammate. But keeping myself apart from the crowd brought spiritual comfort and later temporal benefit when the police allowed me to return home.
However, the greatest blessing of liberty came when, in the privacy of my dormitory room early Sunday morning, I chose to be where I should be, not knowing beforehand the treasure that awaited me there. Such experiences, accompanied by the ministration of the Spirit, foreshadow the liberty associated with the blessing of eternal life.

Light persuades us to do good; it leads us to Christ. It led my family as it has led yours, and it can and will lead all to him.
Archibald Stewart and his wife, Esther Lyle, are my great-great-grandparents. The Stewart family had learned to face persecution and hardship. Their ancestors had been forced to flee from Scotland to Northern Ireland, where they had been promised protection. But instead of finding peace, they again became victims of persecution at the hands of the Irish Greens. Independence and strong conviction were part of their heritage.
The Stewart family characteristics of love and devotion and a deep religious faith made them receptive to the gospel. When the Mormon missionaries came to the Stewart house, Elizabeth, the third child, immediately felt the truthfulness of their message. She began to study and search for more assurance of the things she felt within. Her feelings and study stirred an immediate response in her old granny, who was the matriarch of the Stewart household. Elizabeth spent many hours telling her granny about the new prophet of God, Joseph Smith, who had brought back to earth the simple, direct message that Christ was alive and had appeared to man. Elizabeth felt a testimony burning within and asked permission to be baptized. Because of the unpopularity of the Mormons, her parents objected. Elizabeth’s granny came to her rescue. “Let the child alone,” she said. “I have read all her books, and I do believe the child is right.”
As Elizabeth left her home to go to her baptism, her granny was at her side. The two walked to the river, where the elders had broken a hole in the ice that wintry March day. When the elders came toward Elizabeth to baptize her, her granny stepped up and said, “Watch your manners, child; never step in front of your elders.”
The elders baptized Granny in her street clothes; she even had on her little white cap. She had brought no extra clothes, so she walked home in her wet, frozen clothes. She did not take cold even though she did not change her clothes until the other family members had gone to bed. She said nothing about her baptism to the family but went about her usual tasks as if nothing had happened. After the others had gone to bed, she hung her clothing around the fireplace. In the morning when Archibald got up, he saw the clothes drying. He began to joke with the others about Granny having been dipped in the river along with Elizabeth. Granny listened to their fun and then said: “Archibald, if you don’t want people to hear, stop shouting so loudly. You can’t talk about Granny now, for she can hear better than any of you.”
Granny had been virtually deaf for twenty years, but a miracle had restored her hearing at the time she was baptized. From that day until her death, she could hear distinctly. Archibald said laughingly that she heard too much.
Most of the family members soon were baptized, in 1841.

Sometimes contentions arise because we disagree with what a leader is trying to do. I recall one couple who were very upset at their bishop. They came to me, their stake president, and said the bishop had asked their son to be his assistant—but that the bishop had asked him to get his haircut before he was presented to the quorum. Their son had come home angry. He had just had a haircut a few days before and felt no need to have it shorter. As the mother and father complained to me, they referred to how much more serious it would be if he were smoking or drinking. But getting a hair cut seemed so trivial! Why would the bishop insist on that?
After listening to what they had to say, I asked them if they felt they really loved their son. They looked surprised at my question, but quickly assured me this was the reason they were here. I then told them that if he were my son I would go home and tell him how grateful I was that the bishop had such great love and respect for him. It was a great compliment to be chosen to be an assistant. Undoubtedly the bishop felt he must have leadership ability and the ability to be an example to all the other priests in the ward. I would explain to him how the Lord loves an obedient servant and that many times our obedience has to rest upon faith.
I told this wonderful couple that they needed to strengthen that bishop in the eyes of their son in every way possible; to do otherwise would only bring them unhappiness. Failure to support the bishop would communicate to their son that the bishop was not called of God, that we may follow our leaders only when we choose. The danger of this approach would be that they would be teaching their son that he was a law unto himself, ever sitting as a judge over the words and actions of those called to guide him. There would come a day, I said, when something much more critical than a haircut would arise to test their son. How he—and they—responded to this smaller test would help determine his response to the greater ones.
As we chatted, the contention in the room melted away. Through the Spirit we were all reminded that contention is of the devil and can bring only destructive results.

For Cathy Antonsson of Helsingborig, Sweden, saying no was not always easy or pleasant.

“It was rough. It’s not easy, but you have to pay the price for who you are. Sometimes I cried my eyes out because I had to stay home. It was difficult because many people here just aren’t religious.
“I went to Rome for two weeks on a school trip. In Italy, they always offered us wine. They have wine with most of their meals, so my friends kept offering me wine, and I kept saying, ‘No, I don’t drink that.’
“My friends spent so much money on drinks. Everytime we went out, I would put the same amount of money in my purse that they spent on their drinks. Before we left, I went to an exclusive dress shop and bought a very expensive designer dress. All my friends were really surprised when they saw it and said, ‘Hey, how could you afford that?’ I told them what I had done and that that was one of the advantages of not drinking.”
Despite the hardships, Cathy was glad she upheld her standards. “After I graduated from junior college (in Sweden, students 16 to 19 attend junior college), a boy that I used to date told me that when we started school he had set a goal that before we graduated he would get me to break my standards. He said it always bugged him that I was so moral.
“When we used to go out on dates, I always said, ‘Hey, no way. I want to be your friend, but I don’t do that.’ After it was all over, he told me, ‘I have never respected a girl as much as I respect you.’”